An Unexpected Good-bye
by Huyensmom
Summary: Rebecca's mother is dying, and the family receives a visitor who learns something surprising about himself.


My name is Rebecca, and the long and short of it was that my mother, Joanna, was sick. No, let me amend that; she was dying of cancer. I went for quite a while thinking that mom was just sick, but it took a while for me to wrap my head around the fact that Jim, my dad, and I were going to lose her, and that we didn't have a lot of time. The doctors sent her home from the hospital because there were no more treatments that could help her. I took the semester off from college, and Dad and I took turns sitting with her, making sure she was never alone, and never frightened, if we could help it.

We both wanted to do something special for her while there was still time, but time was running short; her illness had progressed much faster than anyone thought it would. So, we couldn't take her to Italy, our original plan, because she was too weak. So we thought about what we could do, and then my dad had a brainstorm. My mother was a big fan of the character Loki in the Thor and Avenger movies, and the actor who played him, Tom Hiddleston. Mom talked a lot about how nice he was to his fans, and what a generally great guy Tom is. Dad thought that he and I could go kind of the "Make a Wish" route, and contact Tom's agent or publicist, and we could ask if Tom could make a brief phone call to my mom, or send her an autographed picture, or something that would brighten her last few months. So, we did, we sent off letters to everyone, and hoped against hope that the letters would reach Tom somehow, and that he'd do something for my mom.

A month or so went by, and my mother visibly began to fail. We hadn't heard from anyone concerning Tom and assumed that the letters hadn't reached him or his people. He's always seems the type of person who would do the kind of thing we asked for a dying fan. He sounds to me like J.K. Rowling who went to the hospital room of a little boy who was a big Harry Potter fan, but was not going to live to read the last book. She read him the last book, under promise of secrecy so that he got to know the end of the story before he died. Her kindness to that child always made me a little teary. I always imagined Tom would do something like that. So, we were disappointed, but since we hadn't told my mom about this, it was not a disappointment for her.

We knew we were very close to the end, and had alerted family members that they should prepare to gather, if they wanted to see her one last time. Relatives and friends came from out of town, and in town, and spent a lot of time with Mom. The day finally came when we decided the time for visitors was done because they exhausted her too much. She'd said good-bye to everyone she needed to see, and we were going to have the last few days, or hours, just for us. We needed to slow things down, and concentrate on being with her.

We put Mom in a chaise lounge out in the back yard which overlooks a lovely view of woods and water. It was a warm and sunny day, and she enjoyed being outside, feeling the sun on her face, and seeing the sky. She was hooked up to a morphine pump for the pain, but she seemed to need it less when she was outside. I was sitting with her, and my dad was inside, when we heard a knock at the front door. This was not unexpected as we had neighbors and friends bringing by casseroles and offering us help and support. My father opened the door, and was stunned to see Tom Hiddleston himself, standing at our front door. He wore a beautifully cut suit, his hair quite blond and curly, and his normally merry face full of worry and concern.

Dad called me to the door, we invited him in and introduced ourselves (I could barely breath, much less talk), and looked at Tom in bewilderment as he explained that he'd been in Washington, DC, and found out that we didn't live very far away, and on the spur of the moment, had decided to come down and see if my mom was well enough to see him. He apologized for not contacting us earlier, but apparently the letter went astray and took a very long time to reach him, and he'd only just gotten it. He went online and found out that my mother was still living, and so came out to our house. He apologized again and again in his charming way, the blue green eyes full of concern that he had caused us pain by not contacting us.

My dad said that it was clearly time that he met my mom, who was the reason he had been so kind as to come. Tom agreed readily, and the three of us walked into the yard where my mother lay in the sunshine. I got out my phone, and asked if we could take some pictures of him with our family. He said that was a great idea, and took one photo of him with my mom, and another of himself and me. Our visitor turned to my dad and me and asked if he could spend some time alone with Joanna, and that he'd call for us right away if there were any need. We smiled at him and at each other. I burst into tears and thanked him for coming to make my mom's last days very special; he hugged me and told me that he'd felt honored to get our letter. We all wiped our eyes at that point, and he stayed out with my mother, and my dad and I went back inside and watched them through the sliding glass door.

Tom sat down in the chair beside my mother's chaise, gently touched her arm and spoke her name. She woke, saw his face, and smiled and laughed, the first time we'd heard her do that in a long time. To our surprise (we could hear just about everything); he introduced himself as Loki, not as Tom, and leaned over and taking her head gently in his hands, kissed her cheek. My mother laughed again, and soon the two of them were off to the races in a rapid conversation during which they both talked and laughed a great deal. Dad and I couldn't follow it, so we went about our business in the house, occasionally hearing my mother's laugh, and Tom's "Eheheheh" laugh, which I'd heard so often in movies and interviews my mom made me watch with her. This wonderful time for my mother went on for almost two hours, during which my dad and I took them out tea and some nice cookies (our concession to Tom's being a Brit). They barely looked at us; their conversation so engrossed them.

After a while, Dad and I noticed that it had become quite quiet outside and that we were hearing no more conversation and laughter. We wondered if my mother had drifted off to sleep and left Tom just sitting there. We looked out the door, and to our astonishment, saw that Tom was sitting on the side of my mother's chaise, and was cradling her upper body in his arms, her head resting on his chest. He was rocking her in his arms, and to our astonishment, he was weeping, not just a few tears on his face, he was really weeping as strong men can do. My mother was weak, and could not sit up on her own, but she was stroking his face with her hand, and was saying "It's alright darling, it's alright. I'm not in any pain now, and I'll see you again soon. I'm not going very far away, after all. I'll always be there, whenever you want me. It's alright dear, it's all right. Just cry it out."

As she was saying this, Tom would occasionally say, "Please don't leave me, I just can't stand it. Please don't leave me. I'm so so sorry for everything I've done, and for all the ways I've hurt you." Then he would weep some more.

To put it mildly, my father and I were dumbfounded. I told my dad that as far as I knew, Tom's mother was still living, so his behavior was inexplicable. Of course, I didn't really know him, and had no idea whom he had dearly loved and lost. Perhaps he was revisiting the death of a grandmother or dear friend. It was astonishing.

Suddenly, Tom very gently lay my mother back down, kissed her forehead, jumped up and came running in to find us. "I'm so sorry, he said, "But I think I've taken her last few hours for myself. I think she's going to die very quickly now." We ran out to the chaise, where my mother lay, breathing very heavily. We tried to get her attention, but she'd slipped into semi-consciousness. I told my dad to take her hand, and tell her to squeeze his hand if she knew he was there. He did this, and turned to us, tears on his face, telling us that she had squeezed his hand; she knew we were there.

My father got on the chaise lounge and held my mother in his arms, while Tom and I each took one of her hands. All three of us cried like children. After a few minutes, my father said he thought mom was no longer breathing, and that seemed to be the case. I could find no pulse at her neck, so we knew she was gone.

My father got up to call 911, while Tom prepared to leave. He left very quickly, but not before slipping an envelope into my mother's hand. He kissed my cheek and hugged me, hugged my dad, and was out the door very quickly. A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived, and the process that begins with the death of a member of the family started.

This sounds like the end of the story, but it isn't. About a week after the funeral, my father and I received a letter with a British stamp and postmark. We opened it, and saw that it was a letter of apology from Tom's publicist, and enclosed was a note from Tom himself. The publicist apologized profusely that they had not received the letter about my mother's illness with our request that Tom call or write her until after her death. They'd researched online, and found the notice of her funeral, and knew they were too late. It was with great sadness he wrote us this letter. The note from Tom was a very kindly and heartfelt condolence letter expressing regret that he'd never gotten to meet my mother, and was so sorry he'd been unable to fulfill our request, which he would happily have done. He said "I'm so sorry," at least four times in the letter.

OK… this all made absolutely no sense. If Tom hadn't received our letter until too late, who had come and sat, talked, laughed, and cried with my mother, and with us, on the day my mother died? Did my dad and I have a shared delusion or hallucination? That didn't seem right at all. We were uncertain what to do – should we call the psychiatrist or the priest? We were in quite a state, until my father said, "Wait! I've remembered something. Do you remember that Tom put something in your mother's hand before he left? I took it out of her hand before they removed the body, but I never looked at it. I don't ever know where it is!"

"I remember! I'll get it," I said, and ran to the secretary desk where we put our most important little doo dads and things we absolutely can't afford to lose. I opened the desk, and there was the envelope, addressed to "Jim and Rebecca" in an elegant script. I looked at my father.

"Open it!" he croaked. So I did. There was a short note in that same elegant script, and a photo. I read

_Dear Jim and Rebecca,_

_ Clearly I owe you two some explanation of what_

_ happened the last day of Joanna's life. I think I've_

_explained it all in the picture I've enclosed. May I assure_

_you that this is not the kind of thing I normally do, normally_

_ I despise anything to do with sentiment, I hate it! However,_

_ I felt called upon to come to your home and spend time_

_ with your family._

_ Sincerely,_

_ LoA_

Dad and I almost tore the picture in two in our efforts to see it. To our surprise, the picture moved, like the pictures in the Harry Potter books, but this one talked as well. Loki Laufeyson looked at us from the picture he'd taken with my mom. He was clearly the real Loki, not Tom, the actor. I don't know why I knew this except that the letter and the photo seemed to tingle and vibrate with what I could only think was magic. Loki was dressed in his green robes, his long curly black hair brushing his shoulders. My mother smiled at him and at us from the photo. He smiled at us, and started to talk.

_ I've already told you that I despise sentiment, but I_

_thought perhaps this situation was different. I intercepted the_

_letters you sent to Tom Hiddleston because I knew that I wanted_

_the situation with your mother handled correctly, by me. Tom_

_hasn't lost his mother, but both you and I have. I thought this_

_was a situation in which I might actually do someone some good._

_ As you may know, I am a shape-shifter, and can duplicate_

_myself. I thought it might alarm the two of you if an actual god_

_were to appear at your door, so you saw me as Tom Hiddleston_

_(such an attractive young man!), but your mother saw the true me;_

_she saw Loki, and it was with the real me that she spent the last_

_few hours of her life. When I first sat down beside her, I touched_

_her and was able to completely relieve her pain. That way she_

_could be clear in her mind, and did not need the drug that was_

_being pumped through her veins._

_ Normally I'm not overly fond of mortals, but I've been_

_ learning, and I found your mother a delightful and very smart_

_woman. She certainly appreciated all of my positive qualities,_

_which so many people miss entirely. She was like my mother in this._

_I enjoyed my time with her, strange to say. I never thought a mortal_

_woman could hold my interest for more than just a few minutes._

_ I came to do your mother some good, and sentiment be_

_damned again, I found that I was the one really benefitting_

_from the encounter. We talked and laughed for a very_

_long time, and then I realized that your mother was really going_

_to die, and that along with you, I would be here to say good-bye_

_ to her. You see, I never got to say good-bye to my mother; I_

_was locked in a cell when she was killed and was unable to_

_ protect her, tell her how much I loved her, or to say good-bye_

_to her. This was entirely Odin's and Thor's fault._

_ My feelings about my mother overwhelmed me at that_

_moment, and I found that in saying good-bye to your mother, I_

_was also saying good-bye to mine. That's when, damned be_

_sentiment again, I took her in my arms and began to weep. _

_She became Frigga for me for a little while. She responded to_

_ me just as Frigga would have. She stroked my hair and face_

_ and comforted me, while she was the one dying. I had no idea_

_ that mortal mothers are so much the same as godly ones._

_ I hope that in return, I was able to comfort her some. I_

_think I did. She seemed to enjoy my company._

_ So, Jim and Rebecca, I thank you for those last hours_

_with Joanna. You may like to know, that after she took her last_

_breath, I escorted her to the place of the bright light, where she_

_saw people who loved her and who ran to meet her. I hope that_

_eases your minds about her death. _

_ I came to help Joanna, and as I said, got the greater_

_benefit myself. I will be watching you two always, and_

_ if I'm not in prison somewhere, will help you when I can. I will see_

_you again._

_Sincerely,_

_Loki of Asgard_

_P.S. If my "brother" Thor comes looking for me, please deny that_

_you've seen me. It's for the best, believe me._

_P.P.S. I have left you two a little something that you might find_

_helpful someday. Don't look for it, you will know it when you see it._

_By the way Rebecca, I kept the photo of you and me for myself._

So that is the story of the day of my mother's death and how we all met Loki. My father and I talk about it every once in a while, and when we begin to doubt our sanity, we get out Loki's photo and letter, and there it all is. We can ask the photo to talk to us again, and it does, but it always says the same thing, and that's fine. We have no idea what it is that Loki left us, but I assume we will find it someday, as he said. What I can't figure out is why he took that one photo with him. What possible interest could he have in me?


End file.
